[Verse 1: Jiles]
I just pulled up in that whatchacallit
Fiends on the block, it ain't designer
Tube sock is their favorite wallet
I remember seein' my older cousin cracked out on my mama sofa
Slept for three days, his body slumped over (Facts)
I'm on a different tax bracket
Still the same n***a fuckin' hoes on the air mattress
Off hand doing calisthenics, got the hood jumping
National Grid outside, we light the stove oven, real shit
What is life? I'm in studio with my rap peers
That Carhartt stab-proof, with it, feel like Paul Pierce
Posted on the block with them lawn chairs
Gossiping about getting money, bad hoеs, and who out here, I'm out herе

[Chorus: Jiles]
If this was nine-four, I would've got five mics
If this was nine-four, I would've got five mics
Fuck The Source, little n***a, I'm the source for real
Fuck The Source, little n***a, I'm the source for real

[Verse 2: Ricky Felix]
I was on the Eastside picking dimes, ripping rhymes
Hoping God ain't let me die
N***as tried to take me off the earth (For real)
Walkin' up on n***as after school tryna catch the work
Them boys were fuckin' spooked, though
Hangin' with my CVs, fuckin' on a lil' puto
Police tryna kill the folk (Yeah)
Hangin' on my fuckin' hawk, them lil' n***as gettin' poked
I was dead broke chasin' dollars
Please don't take me out my mode
Motherfuckers tryna take me out my zone
But I ain't tripping, though
[Verse 3: FELIX]
Shit, and I ain't missing, though
'Cause music shit ain't set in stone (Set in stone)
Just tryna set the tone, respect your roles and fémen dan (Fémen dan)
I spent these troubled times with dimes that could've been in Vogue
See Jiles' style is more like slam dunking, mines is finger rolls
Shit, if it was '98, I'd sign to Murder Inc (Yeah)
I'd cop the coldest mink and crew would got the goldest links (Yeah)
A plain Rollie face, that shiny shit depreciates (Yeah)
But this is present-day shit
See, where I'm from, I made it

[Chorus: Jiles]
If this was nine-four, I would've got five mics
If this was nine-four, I would've got five mics
Fuck The Source, little n***a, I'm the source for real
Fuck The Source, little n***a, I'm the source for real

[Verse 4: Conway the Machine]
Look
I used to want five mics in The Source, now I'm the source for real
N***a couldn't afford a deal, now I do corporate deals
Peanut butter seats, the Porsche was teal
Had all the odds stacked against me, I made a fortune still (I'm up, n***a)
That boy was doing the most, so he was forced to chill (Sit down, pussy)
Talkin' greasy on internet, that boy in his feelings
I got the bag to have him smoked, I can afford to kill (Uh-huh)
Machine, bitch, I'm a boss for real (Woo)
Mafia shit, two to the head, how that revolver feel?
Got wise guys that'll whack you, get rid of that corpse for real
Got mob ties, my guy, but I don't eat no pork or veal
And I'm top five with lines if ever we talking skill
And I got fly, I'm top three if ever we talking spill, shit (Talk to 'em)
N***a, you broke, so why you talking still? (Hah)
Put the nail in them n***as' coffin still
Got the carbine steel
I'll blow they melon across the field, Machine